Staff Physician
by FemaleChauvinist
Summary: A series of one-shots that take place in a nursing home where Carlisle is working as staff physician.
1. Geriatrics

**Disclaimer:** While the attempt has been made to be medically accurate, some artistic license has been taken, and statements made by Carlisle are not to be regarded as authoritative.

Recognizable characters and plotlines are the property of Stephenie Meyer; all original characters and story © 2016 FemaleChauvinist.

 _Do not post without permission. Do not copy/print without including the above disclaimer in its entirety._

 _Early Spring 2010_

 _Nessie five A/E fourteen_

 **Esme**

I slipped into Carlisle's office and stood waiting for him to notice me. He sat studying a medical journal that was folded back at a particular page.

"Interesting article?" I asked finally.

He turned, an instant smile on his lips. "Actually, I was thinking about what I'm going to specialize in when we move; there's an ad here for a staff physician at a nursing home."

I frowned as I crossed the room to lean against the arm of his chair and slip my arm around his neck. "Geriatrics? I'm not sure that's the best idea."

He raised an eyebrow. "And why ever not, love? I'm qualified."

I smiled and kissed his forehead. "Of course you are." My Carlisle was qualified for anything. Then I sighed. "But it bothers you so much when you lose a patient…" On those days he would come home and simply sit holding me for hours; there were no words of comfort I could give him. He had admitted to me that it was the reason he had never seriously considered going into oncology…and now he wanted to take a job where most of the patients had a life expectancy of five to ten years or less?

He shrugged. "I doubt it's any worse than working emergency…and I didn't even have you when I practiced before modern medicine."

"I know, but…you'll be closer to these patients, Carlisle. It won't be like losing a stranger in the ER."

"It's the senseless deaths that bother me the most," he said softly, the memories haunting his eyes. "The children…the young adults…the parents with young families. These patients, Esme…they've lived full lives. Most of them have already lost a spouse. Their deaths…well, it doesn't seem _wrong_ , Esme. I'll never believe in euthanasia; thou knows that. But I do think maybe there's a time to stop fighting…to let go…to accept death as a friend instead of an enemy."

I looked steadily into his eyes, and saw that he meant every word. Maybe he needed this; a few years of losing patients whose deaths _didn't_ make him wish he could have done more. "Do what you think best," I told him softly.

He smiled and brushed his lips across the back of my hand. "I'll be fine, Esme…as long as I have you to come home to."

 **First story coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	2. German

**German**

 **Carlisle**

I carefully replaced the patient file in my filing cabinet. So far, I enjoyed being staff physician of the 130-bed nursing home. My mornings were spent here, conducting routine physicals and addressing any problems. In the afternoon, I would visit any patients from the home who were currently in the hospital.

Technically I was on call twenty-four seven; in practice this was one of the most low-key jobs I had ever held. As long as my pager and cell phone were on and I stayed in a thirty-minute radius, my nights and a good part of most afternoons were free. If I really needed to be off duty for some reason, I could arrange for one of the doctors at the hospital to cover for me. But I enjoyed the work; enjoyed my patients and enjoyed the responsibility of being the highest medical figure present.

Some mornings I brought Esme in; the patients, especially those who didn't have family of their own to visit, loved having her. One ninety-year-old gentleman in particular seemed to have a "crush" on her; he asked nearly every day when she was coming again, and would have monopolized her attention for hours if she had let him. He was so childishly eager in his affection that it wasn't in me to be jealous.

I often called Edward in for consultation on the non-verbal patients; even if they had diminished mental capacity he could gauge their level of pain and alert me to certain other symptoms they might be experiencing.

Those who had lost the ability to communicate but still had high mental function loved when he came; he would always make it a point to have a real conversation with at least one of them. I knew they must have figured out fairly quickly that he was reading their minds, but surely even the Volturi could see that there was no danger of exposure in their knowing. Not that they knew anything close to the whole truth in any case.

"Dr Cullen?"

I turned to see one of the nurses standing in the doorway. "Yes, Rita?"

"Hilda Schmidt's not eating this morning, sir, and she seems a bit warm."

"Hilda Schmidt," I murmured, quickly locating her file. "A new patient?"

"Yes, sir." There was slight hesitance in her voice, and I looked questioningly at her as I locked the office door — we took no chances of letting the residents gain access to drugs. "Is there something you should tell me, Rita?"

"You're good, Doctor," she said admiringly. She sighed. "Hilda's got all her faculties, but she only speaks about two words of English."

"What language; German?"

"Yes." She frowned. "You know we've got six Hispanic aides and not one person in the building who speaks German?"

I quirked an eyebrow at her as we came to the door of Hilda Schmidt's room. "I'm curious as to how you came to that conclusion; I don't recall being asked."

I tapped lightly on the door and pushed it open without waiting for Rita's response. "Good morning, Frau Schmidt," I greeted the patient in German. "I'm Dr Carlisle Cullen; Rita says you're feeling a little under the weather this morning."

She had been lying with half closed eyes, picking listlessly at the bedcover, but at the familiar sound of her mother tongue she became instantly alert. Her eyes brightened, and she began talking as if trying to say everything she had been unable to communicate in the days since she came here; I would have been hard pressed to follow the rapid flow of words without my vampire abilities.

I laughed softly, holding up a hand. "Easy there; slow down. Why don't you tell me how you're feeling this morning, Frau Schmidt?" I had never quite liked the staff's tendency to address all patients by their first names, even sometimes to talk down to them as if they were children. Of course, I was easily three to five times older than any of them; if anyone had the right to treat them as children, it was I. But instead I gave them the respect due them from someone of my assumed age.

I chatted with Hilda Schmidt as I checked her condition; by the time I was finished I knew a great deal about her family and how she had come from Germany.

She did show signs of a slight infection, but I couldn't help wondering if part of her problem had been mere loneliness and boredom. I administered an antibiotic, then turned to direct Rita as to how I wanted the problem treated.

The nurse was staring at me with her mouth slightly open. " _You_ know German, sir?"

I shrugged. "Enough to serve; my German vocabulary isn't as extensive as my French or Spanish."

Her eyes widened; for an instant I wondered if it was literally possible for them to pop out of her head. "How — many languages do you _know_?" she gasped.

"German, Italian, French, Spanish…a couple others." Most of the European languages, actually, plus a handful of Native American ones. "I suppose you could say it's a hobby of mine." I changed the subject then, explaining what I believed Frau Schmidt's problem to be and the treatment necessary.

Then I turned back to my patient with a smile. "The aide is going to be bringing your breakfast back; I want you to try to eat some of it, ja? I'll stop by to check on you later."

Tears glistened in her eyes, and she groped to clasp my hand in both hers. "Thank you for coming, Doctor."

I gently squeezed her hand. "It was my pleasure," I assured her. "You rest now and get well."

 **oOo**

 **Marianne Billings**

"Excuse me, do you know where I might find my mother, Hilda Schmidt?"

I looked up from my paperwork with a smile. "If she's not in her room, I expect she's in Dr Cullen's office."

The woman frowned with concern. "The doctor? Is she sick?"

"No," I assured her. "She had a slight infection last week, and we discovered the doctor speaks German. Since then, she's been in his office pretty much whenever he has a free moment."

The frown didn't leave her face. "I hope she hasn't been making a nuisance of herself."

I shook my head. "He seems to enjoy her company." I pushed my papers aside and stood up. "Here, I'll walk you down, Ms…?"

"Mrs. Greta Rollings."

I nodded. "Mrs Rollings. I'm Marianne Billings."

She fell silent as we walked toward Dr Cullen's office.

The previous doctor had been gruff and impatient, seeming to take it as a personal insult when someone fell ill during the time he wasn't scheduled to be here. Eventually, we had asked for his resignation.

For a few months doctors from the hospital had covered for us, but the situation wasn't ideal; the elderly patients felt more comfortable with one doctor they came to know and trust.

When Dr Cullen had applied for the job, his obvious youth and lack of experience made me hesitant to hire him, but my fears had been unfounded; he was easily the most competent doctor I had ever seen. He had a calm, easy manner that won the hearts of all the residents, and he seemed to genuinely enjoy them as well.

As we approached the open door of his office, I saw Hilda leaning forward in her chair, gesturing as she told an animated story in German.

Dr Cullen leaned easily against his desk, one hand resting on the desktop. As Hilda reached the end of her story, he put his head back and laughed out loud.

Greta's eyes were wide with wonder as she turned to me. "I haven't seen Mother so happy in…I don't know how long."

I found myself trying to picture Dr Owen laughing at a resident's story…in English _or_ German. "Dr Cullen has done wonders here," I agreed. "We're very fortunate to have him."

 **Next story coming next week!**

 **A/N: I realize "under the weather" is an American idiom; I'm assuming Carlisle used a comparable idiom in German. Barbie**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	3. Wanderer

**Wanderer**

 **Carlisle**

I was nearly ready to leave the nursing home for the day when I heard the sound of worried voices. I hurried out of my office. "Marianne? What's wrong?"

The director turned to me. "Mildred Franks is missing."

I frowned with concern; Mildred Franks was one of our Alzheimer's patients. "Do you have any idea how long she's been gone?"

Marianne Billings shook her head. "The aide went to get her for lunch and realized she wasn't here."

I looked out the window, hoping the woman had at least put on a jacket; the temperature had been hovering around freezing all morning, and the thick clouds threatened snow before night. "Let me just grab my coat, and I'll go out after her," I said quietly.

"No; you'd better stay here in case she needs medical attention when we find her."

I smiled slightly; I didn't doubt the humans' ability to find her, but I sincerely doubted they could beat me to it. "I'll have my cell phone on; if anyone finds her they can give me a call and I'll head right back."

I slipped into my office without waiting for further argument, pulling on my thick coat before heading out. "I'll find her," I assured Marianne.

"I still think —"

I smiled and shook my head and headed out the door.

Mildred Franks' scent was still strong; it must have been an hour at most since she left. Of course, even an hour could be far too long if, as I suspected, she wasn't dressed for the weather. At least she was fairly healthy, aside from the dementia.

I hurried along at what would pass for a fast stroll; not an unlikely pace for a human out in this freezing weather. Thankfully, she seemed to have kept to the sidewalk, and the only side streets had very little traffic.

I was nearly a mile from the nursing home before I spotted her, standing looking over the edge of a bridge that went over a small creek. A leather purse hung by its strap from her arm, and though she at least had a red sweater on over her blouse, she had her arms crossed against the cold.

I walked as heavily as I could, trying to avoid startling her. "Millie?" I said, laying a hand on her arm. Edward had said she was living in the past; sometimes as a young wife and mother, sometimes as an unmarried girl. She might or might not respond to her surname; it was best to address her by the familiar "Millie."

She turned and looked at me without surprise. "It's getting colder, Robert."

I wondered if I bore some resemblance to her late husband, or if she would have addressed any man by his name. "Here, take my coat," I offered, slipping it off and wrapping it around her thin shoulders. I only wished I had been able to warm it up for her.

Pulling out my cell phone, I quickly dialed the number for the nursing home. "Yes, Marianne, this is Dr Cullen; I found her on the little bridge over Mason's Creek…She seems to be all right…just a little chilled…no, that won't be necessary. I'm going to take her up to the coffee shop for a hot drink; I'll call a cab from there…Right, see you then." I closed the phone and tucked Millie's hand in the crook of my arm. "How would you like a hot drink, Millie?"

She smiled. "That would be wonderful, Robert."

It was a five-minute walk to the little row of shops, and Millie stepped through the door as I held it for her. I found her a seat beside the heat radiator, pulling out the chair for her. "What would you like to drink; coffee?"

She smiled almost shyly. "Hot cocoa."

"Hot cocoa it is, then. Stay here; I'll be right back."

I kept one eye on her as I ordered her cocoa; she seemed content to sit where I had left her.

I checked the temperature of the drink with the tip of my finger before giving it to her, wanting to be sure she wouldn't scald her mouth. She wrapped both hands around the cup and took a sip, then smiled girlishly. "It's been years since I had hot cocoa, Robert."

I smiled and pulled out my phone, dialing Information for the number of the taxi service.

The taxi pulled up in front of the building just as Mildred was finishing her cocoa, and I stood and offered her my arm. "Let's go; our ride's here."

The cab driver gave Mildred a knowing look when I gave him the address; I chose to ignore it. When he pulled up at the main entrance, I stopped to pay him before going around to open Mildred's door for her. "Keep the change."

He whistled softly. "Hey, thanks, mister." He glanced over his shoulder at Mildred. "Kind of screwy, that one, ain't she?"

I barely restrained a growl; I had begun to think of the residents as family — not that I approved of derogatory statements in any case. "She's ill," I said shortly, "not 'screwy.'"

He shrugged. "Hey, I was just makin' conversation, mister. Thanks again for the tip."

I shook my head and went to assist Mildred into the building.

As I opened the front door for her, she turned to smile up at me. "Don't I get a kiss goodbye?"

I leaned down and gently kissed her cheek. "Take care, Millie."

Marianne stepped forward quickly. "Here, Mildred, give the doctor his coat back."

Millie looked from one to the other of us in confusion. "Doctor? This is my fiancé, Robert; he just took me shopping."

"But you _are_ wearing my coat, Millie," I said gently, lifting it from her shoulders. "Remember? You were cold with just your sweater."

She nodded, but still seemed a bit uncertain.

"You go on inside now, Millie," I told her. "We don't want you getting sick."

Marianne frowned as Millie moved down the hall. "Aren't you going to check her out?"

I raised an eyebrow. "She thinks I'm her fiancé dropping her off after a date; I'm not sure a doctor's examination would be appropriate." If she continued thinking I was Robert Franks, I didn't need Alice's help to foresee some interesting complications in the days ahead. "If you want me to check her, then have someone tell her she's going to see Dr Cullen; maybe that way she won't confuse me with Robert. But I don't think it's necessary; I gave her a once-over, and she seems fine."

Marianne nodded, having come to trust my judgment over the past months. "How did you do it?" she asked quietly. "I mean…you found her so fast, it was as if you knew right where to look."

I hesitated. "Call it a sixth sense." I leaned one hand on the desk and changed the subject. "You know, I've heard of systems where likely wanderers wear a special bracelet, and a sensor on the door locks it if they try to go out; I think you can punch in a code to override it."

Marianne sighed. "I know…it would be nice. But we're barely operating in the black as it is…we'll just have to keep a closer eye on them."

I nodded, saying nothing. But I made up my mind to anonymously donate a couple hundred thousand… plus that sensor system. Marianne might be suspicious — though she had no idea I was more than moderately well-to-do — but I honestly didn't care if she did guess. These residents _had_ become part of my family; I would take care of them in every way I could.

 **Next story coming next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	4. Centenarian

**Centenarian**

 **Marianne Billings**

I hung up the phone and dropped my head into my hands with a sigh, kneading my temples with my fingers.

"Need an aspirin?"

I looked up at the sound of the half-teasing voice; Dr Cullen stood there with a patient chart in his hand. And though he had spoken half in jest, there was true concern in his eyes.

I managed a slight smile. "No, thanks; it's nothing. Did you have something I needed to see?"

He was completely professional at once, explaining changes in the care of one of the patients. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but found myself nodding without any real comprehension.

When he had finished, I rubbed my hand over my forehead. "On second thought, maybe I _will_ take that aspirin."

"Sure." He left, returning moments later with a pill and a glass of water. "Mind if I ask what's giving you a headache?" he questioned, sitting on the counter that ran in front of my desk.

I swallowed the aspirin and leaned my head back against the chair. "It's Victoria Benson's birthday party." Normally we had a party at the beginning of the month for all residents whose birthdays were in that month, but Victoria Benson was our oldest resident and this was her hundredth birthday. "I think I finally got the cake order straight — if I can be sure of anything talking to those Italians down at the bakery. Honestly, if they were German I think I'd ask you to stop in and double check!"

He chuckled. "My Italian is actually better than my German; tell me what you wanted and I'll take care of it."

I found myself shaking my head. "You're a wonder, Dr Cullen. Any chance of finding me another pianist on such short notice? The woman I was going to get had a family emergency."

"My son, Edward," he replied instantly.

I blinked; I had met the doctor's adopted son when he came to visit the patients and unofficially help his father, but… "Edward's what; sixteen?"

"Yes, but he can play."

"Oh, I've no doubt, but I'd wanted someone who could play music from when Vicki was a girl…1930s or thereabouts."

"Edward can play anything ever written," he promised; there was a serious tone to his voice that kept it from sounding like boasting. "I'll talk to him this evening. Were there any other problems?"

"No…" I said half dazedly. "That was all."

"Then let's go over Ruby Addison's chart again; you didn't hear a word I said the first time."

 **oOo**

 **Carlisle**

"What kind of piano is it?" Edward questioned.

"An upright," I admitted.

Edward frowned. "I wish you'd talked to me before offering my services, Carlisle."

I blinked in some surprise. "Don't be a snob, Edward. Just because it's not a baby grand like yours…"

He sighed. "All right. But can you tell me the last time they had it tuned?"

I was silent. Money was tight at the nursing home (or had been, before I started essentially volunteering my services, anonymously donating the amount of my salary and then some); I was sure a piano tuner hadn't been high on the list of priorities. "Probably not since they got it," I admitted. "I'm sorry, Edward; I wasn't thinking of that."

He shrugged, giving me a lopsided grin. "Get it tuned before the party, and I'll play."

I raised an eyebrow. "You trust the ear of a human piano tuner?" He had always tuned his baby grand himself.

"No, not really. But it will be better than nothing, and a sixteen-year-old who tunes his own piano would probably set Mrs Billings wondering. You have a good ear; don't let him leave if anything sounds too far off."

"Temperamental musician," I grumbled teasingly.

He grinned unashamedly. "You volunteer me, you have to pay the price. Any idea what kind of music she wants; dance tunes or concert music or what?"

I chuckled. "She's in her forties, Edward; I have my doubts she even knows what 1930s music sounds like. Just use your own judgment; I'm sure it will be fine."

 **oOo**

By a curious coincidence, Victoria Benson's birthday was the same date I had chosen for mine. I didn't know the actual day of my birth; only that it was sometime in February. But when I had to put my birth date on job applications and other forms, I always used February 23, a date I had chosen on a whim simply because I was twenty-three when I was changed.

It would have passed without recognition this year; three hundred sixty-eight wasn't a milestone birthday. Esme would remember it with some little gift, and that was all the celebration I needed.

But at some point in the work of getting ready for the party, Marianne had noticed in the staff files that it was my birthday as well. I had absolutely refused any share in the party, not wanting to take away from Victoria Benson's special day for a birthday as insignificant as three hundred sixty-eight (twenty-nine, in Marianne's records), but had agreed to let Marianne seat me beside the guest of honor. I was a favorite with Victoria Benson, anyway, as I was with most of the residents.

Esme sat on my other side; Bella and Nessie had been invited as well but had chosen not to come. The only one of us who could actually digest human food, Nessie made the most fuss about eating it. I thought maybe she was afraid we would try to make her live on it if she showed the least sign of not actually detesting it.

And while Bella was willing to eat human food if necessary, her aversion to food now as strong as old aversion to blood; trying to swallow it could make her actually gag. The most she could usually manage was soup; anything liquid.

Most of us didn't have that problem; it was disgusting of course, but we simply ate and tried not to think about what we were doing. And there were tricks I had learned over the years; ways of handling my utensils that made humans think I was eating more than I actually was; tricks any seven-year-old human knew for pushing food around on a plate and making it seem less was there than there really was. Of course, if I had a receptacle of some sort in my lap, I could resort to sleight-of-hand; no human eye could follow my movement if I moved at vampire speed.

But tonight I was eating; chewing slowly to avoid finishing fast enough to be offered a second serving of anything. Eating was a necessary evil to live among humans, but right now I couldn't help envying Edward at the piano; no one expected _him_ to eat, of course.

He had played softly all through the meal, but as we finished eating he started on the old dance tunes. Victoria Benson's eyes sparkled; likely Edward was playing any song she happened to think of as being one of her favorites. I smiled, noting her foot tapping. _Edward, slow the beat down a little._

As he responded to my request, I stood and offered Mrs Benson my hand. "Want to dance, Birthday Girl?"

She smiled, accepting my aid to the front of the room. Edward slowed the music just a little more, and I led Victoria Benson through the dance steps of her youth. She favored one leg a little, where she had broken it ten years ago, but I treated her as gently as a piece of china, and she was really amazingly spry for a hundred-year-old human.

"Where did _you_ learn to dance that song?" she demanded, laughing a little breathlessly as we finished.

I grinned at her, dropping the sober calmness of three centuries' experience for the playfulness of a twenty-three-year-old. "Now, that would be telling, Missy!"

"Missy!" she laughed. She patted my arm in a grandmotherly gesture as I helped her sit back down. "Why don't you go on and dance with your wife before she gets jealous of having you pay attention to a young thing like me?"

My eyes twinkled as I swept Esme into the dance. "Should we tell her how many years you have on her?"

Esme deliberately stepped on my foot. "It's only sixteen…and you shouldn't cast a woman's age up to her — Mr Triple-Centenarian."

"It's going on four hundred, love; I think I'm due a little more respect."

"No, Carlisle; when you act twenty-three I get to claim the three years I have on you."

 _What am I going to do with this woman, Edward?_ I thought, glancing toward the piano.

He shook his head, obviously fighting back laughter. And then I decided that there _was_ something I wanted for my birthday. _Edward. Play our wedding song._

He gave no sign at first of having heard, but then improvised a transition into the song he had written for Esme and me.

My son was a genius; the way he could capture feelings with music went beyond mere talent, even for a vampire. The piece started out in a low key, the music reflecting perfectly the loneliness of my years without Esme. Then came the higher notes, the untold despair of Esme's last days as a human. We weren't dancing now; I stood with my arms around her as she lay her head against my shoulder.

Now, softly at first, then louder, the low notes began to join the high as I found Esme. The two melodies wove together, sometimes separating, sometimes echoing each other, always in perfect harmony and accord.

The steps of our dance matched the music so perfectly that I was sure no one watching could doubt the song was about us…but I had nearly forgotten the humans. As the music came to its perfect conclusion, I stood with my hands on Esme's waist. She stood on tiptoe to press her lips to mine. "Happy birthday, Carlisle."

 **That's the last story I have in this series for now, but there's a remote possibility I may add more at some future date. Barbie**

 **A/N: Carlisle's not knowing the exact date of his birth was my compromise between the two contradicting statements (only a couple pages apart in** _ **Twilight**_ **…) that he knows his exact age, but not the year he was born. Barbie**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


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